Sunday, March 29, 2015

shame not bravery...

When people tell me I was SO BRAVE for leaving him, I laugh to myself....sadly.

It wasn't bravery, it was fucking survival. I couldn't live another day under the same roof with him. Not when I knew the truth finally.

I didn't feel like I had a choice.

I had to leave.

Leave or die.

And even after I left, there were a few months that I didn't care whether I lived or died. I took insanely crazy risks. I'm ashamed to admit that I took huge risks with my life. Stupid ones, because I was in so much pain.

•driving drunk, not just tipsy but drunk.

•speeding and driving recklessly at high speeds 75mph+, while drinking.

•mixing HIGH doses morphine and large amounts of alcohol.

•cutting myself as deep as I was able, making sure I drew blood...and a lot of it.

•walking in areas of downtown Portland late at night that were considered dangerous.

I didn't care anymore. I almost wanted something horrible to happen to me so I didn't have to face another day.

I wanted him to mourn me, to feel just an ounce of the pain I suffered.

The only problem? He didn't care(anymore). He didn't see our separation as a mistake.

He never showed up at my apartment begging me to come back to him, not once.

He never came after me.

In the end, I wasn't even important enough to chase after, let alone fight for.